


Clandestine

by Kristylee



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Face-Fucking, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 16:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristylee/pseuds/Kristylee
Summary: This is my first attempt at this fandom. Long time fan of all things Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts.Credence and Percival meet in secret.





	Clandestine

Credence isn't delicate, he just looks to be. He isn't a quiet, order abiding boy. He is hellfire. He is warm to the touch and constantly looking for a way out. Credence disobeys, a characteristic he picked up living with that wretched woman he had to call a mother. Credence decides when enough is enough.

Percival, much older than Credence - a father's age - is neither soft nor brazen. He is gray and dark cloaked, gentle in hand but met with force, urgency when it comes to Credence. He meets his boy on corners, in dark alleyways and in the shadows of bars that don't ask for identification. Percival is a fixed point, Credence is the compass needle.

The night is dense with fog, the sky is overcast so the moon is barely visible through the thick of it. Credence runs a hand down his chest and if Percival sees that, it’s his cue to exit his car.

Percival walks, his leather shoes and their square heels click on the asphalt, coat billowed around his ankles as he moves toward the corner where Credence waits for him. He fumbles with a cigarette and a match. He adds smoke to the fog. The night is cool with a breeze, but dark and alive with possibility. 

Credence hums to himself as Percival approaches, cigarette between his teeth, a smirk on his mouth and a palm to the boy’s jaw and neck. Like touching stamped out coals.

“Has it really only been three days?” Credence asks in a hushed tone. “I've missed your hands.” He clasps Percival’s fingers and then steals his cigarette. The young man inhales, cheeks hollowed and winks at Percival.

Credence blows out smoke. “This is a different brand than usual.”

“Shall we go in, my boy?”

Credence hits the cigarette again and puts it out with the toe of his shoe. He wants Percival. His skin itches with the need to grasp, and cling and kiss. Not here, however. There will be time for that.

The restaurant is expensive, secluded. Nobody either of them knows could dine here. Here, they are free of expectations and whispers and Mother. Credence whistles at the tapestries climbing the walls, the low light, the dark wood of the tables and booths. 

“Swanky, isn't it?” Credence offers. He undoes two buttons of his jacket and takes a seat. Percival removes his cloak, eyes on his boy. 

“I suppose it is.”

“I think we are the only ones here.”

“We better be,” Percival smirks, “I rented the place for the evening. Just you and me.”

A waitress pours water into glasses and offers the wine list without any hesitation at Credence’s age. She smiles and holds the water pitcher by its handle and the bottom, waiting.

Percival doesn't look at the woman, but at Credence and orders a bottle of wine and a decadent sounding dessert before dinner even creeps into the conversation. 

Under Percival’s gaze, Credence swelters. He sips his water and places his cloth napkin in his lap just for something to do with his hands. 

It has been months since their affair started. Days, even weeks sometimes go by before they see each other and it feels as destructive and gorgeous as a wildfire every time their eyes meet. Credence held his breath on their first kiss, a long, slow and sweet surrender against the side of a building. The feel of Percival’s tongue against his own, their hips nearly flush, hands along his spine, Credence holds that memory behind his eyelids, close to the surface in case he needs it.

Their first time together was an incredible, just rough enough scene of two bodies moving the way waves break a ship. Credence had never felt anything quite like the rush of power he felt with Percival’s cock in his mouth, his fingers wrapped around the length. Never had Credence had anybody else touch him or kiss him the way Percival did that night. That memory, too gets relived most nights Credence is alone.

The wine and dessert arrive and Credence is pulled from his memories. 

Percival moves to sit just next to Credence, close enough to smell his cologne. He picks up a fork and cracks the chocolate shell of the dessert and holds it in front of Credence. 

“Let me feed you, Credence.”

Though Credence takes the bite, it is Percival who sounds hungry. 

With each bite, each sip of wine, crisp on his tongue, Credence’s cock swells under the table. With each bite, a lingering kiss to his throat as he swallows, his mouth when he opens for another forkful. Percival strokes his jaw between bites and whispers intimate things that should not be said in public.

“We’ll be seen,” Credence mumbles with a smile. He holds Percival’s wrist, kisses his palm. “Don't you want any wine?”

Percival’s tongue glides along the side of the fork for the left over sweetness and he smirks, pours himself a glass. 

They are so close, their knees brush and nudge under the table. Indecent is a word that crosses Credence’s mind from time to time throughout the meal. Percival’s hand hikes up Credence’s thigh, gripping the fabric of his pants. Urgent, wanting. His breath along Credence’s neck and ear.

“Let us finish here. We can go back to my bed and I can show you what three days without you has done to me.”

With fog to hide them, they make their way to Percival’s car, arms thrown about each other’s waists. Nobody can see them; just two shadows in the night.

The interior of the car smells faintly of smoke and cologne and spearmint. Credence lights up and rolls the window down. The conversation here is all they will have. The remainder of the night will be whispered, moaned and grunted words, broken off sighs and splintered cries when it inevitably becomes too much.

“You look like the Devil himself, Percival.”

When they met, when this all started, that was the one thought Credence had. This man and his strong jawline, his brooding dark eyes, and the sophisticated gray, he may as well have been Satan in a bottle green cloak. It was exhilarating. It made Credence want to bow or get on his knees.

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

Credence smokes for a moment at a red light. Percival cuffs the back of the boy’s neck, kneading his shoulder, down to his elbow, his forearm, wrist and finally to wrap their hands together in his lap. 

“Credence?”

“Hmm?”

“Have I ever told you that you're stunning?” Percival watches his boy and the light to change. He kisses Credence’s knuckles and he wishes he could just devour the boy here and now in the car. Three days is an awfully long time to go without seeing all that fair skin laid before him, sweating and pink and bruised and waiting for more.

“Only when I'm gagging on your dick.”

Percival has to laugh. His smart mouth.

“Really, though, my boy. You're lovely.”

Credence shrugs and nods. “Thank you.” He offers Percival the half smoked cigarette and looks out the window. Deeply, he wishes this night would last forever.

Already, he can feel Percival’s broad, strong hands holding him firm to the bed. 

The car ride lasts what feels like all night. Finally, mercifully they arrive at Percival’s house, an intimidating dark brick mansion, manicured lawn and several cars in the drive. 

Credence feels a giddy child, excitement, adrenaline and filthy thoughts course through him as he and Percival make their way up the stairs to the master bedroom. He cannot keep his hands off the man before him. 

“I've missed you, Mr. Graves,” he mumbles into the man’s shoulder, in the bedroom as Percival slides his silk tie off. Removes his jacket, hangs it on the bed post. 

Percival turns to tug at the ends of Credence’s hair, getting long and surprisingly curly at the ends. His fingers snag there and hold the boy still for a kiss. A grounding affection that pulls at their hearts, as their hands roam and wander territory lost for days.

Credence becomes impatient, as needy as his age, and fumbles his excited fingers over buttons of Percival’s shirt, pants; there are buttons hiding him from Credence. 

“I want you so badly, Percival,” Credence whispers harshly as if it hurts, as if not having Percival hurts him physically. “Please, old man, please,” he breathes. 

Percival huffs a breath against the skin behind the boy’s ear at the term of endearment. Old man, he thinks. Says, “I'll show you old man, you bratty boy.”

Percival whips Credence out of his clothes, no slow tease, and bites exposed areas - shoulders, neck, fingers - soaking up the gasps and sharp breaths coming from Credence. His skin fair and milky white in the low light of the room, his clothes a dark puddle at his feet. 

“On the bed, my boy.” Percival is alarmed at how hoarse his voice sounds to his own ears, already. He runs his fingers through his hair and follows Credence on the bed, eye contact held until their lips meet. 

“Don’t ever stop kissing me,” Credence says. He holds Percival’s hips, shoulders, his hair. He is a tactile human and Percival’s skin is his sounding board on which to learn.

“Credence, shhh, I have you. I have you, boy.” Percival reaches between them to take Credence’s cock in hand and stroke slow and too soft so that he whines and whimpers, thrusts up for more. “Oh my sweet Credence, you feel amazing in my hand.” 

“Mr. Graves just please, please.”

Desire fills Credence, lights up his skin and makes him shudder. Percival’s touch a constant reminder that he is wanted, craved.

The contact is lost for only a moment as Percival strips himself of his shirt and tie. Credence helps him with the belt buckle, glinting between his fingers. The boy exhales a curse, hands on Percival's hips. He looks up, questioning if what is before him is what he can have.

“Do it, my boy.”

Credence ducks a little and kisses the tip of the man's cock, wets his lips with an obscene tongue, and ducks again to take him full in his mouth. He eases down the bed, Percival's knees on either side of him, thrusting shallow down Credence's throat. His fingernails are white, tight gripping the headboard. 

“Come on, Percy,” Credence says hoarsely, “I know you can fuck my throat better than that.” He smirks, rubbing his lips over a sensitive vein on the underside, licking a stripe up just to tease.

Percival grips Credence's hair as hard as he had claim on the wood and draws back, fucks himself into that waiting mouth, down to the back of the boy's throat. Credence moans, long and low from his chest and kicks his feet. He is trapped like this and they both revel in it. 

“Credence, my boy...your mouth, fuck.”

Percival creates a soft noise through his nose and thrusts his hips down into Credence's mouth until he feels himself get close. He grips the base of his cock, rubs his belly and let's Credence up. He is red faced with tears in his eyes. Lips swollen. He runs his thumb across the bottom lip and kisses him slow and dirty, tasting himself there at the roof of Credence's mouth.

“Will you take me tonight, old man? Please, I've… please.”

They kiss, tangled limbs, cocks rubbing together until Credence starts panting and leaking between them. 

He runs his fingers through the salt and pepper hair on Percival's chest. “Take me,” he whispers. “Please, I want you.” He surges up and kisses his old man again, tugging his cock. He continues his pleas even as Percival preps him, the fast thrum of his heart a counter to the slow exploring fingers inside him. He starts to beg for it, babbling for Percival's cock.

Credence was entirely innocent before he laid eyes on this man. He was burning for something at the time, but couldn't express what it was. Percival showed him what it was to be wanted, fawned over, taken. It made Credence warm all over like a sunburn, only this was good. 

So good to be wrapped up in strong, capable arms. To be made into a boy who begs. 

Credence sighs as Percival inches into him little by little. The stretch is something he will never get used to, he thinks. An ache he longs for on nights he and Percival don't get to see each other. His own fingers are a terrible imitation of the real thing. His hands flutter over his eyes and he laughs a little giddily.

“What is so funny, my love?”

It takes a moment for Credence to speak as Percival finally lays inside him, heavy and full. “I am simply happy.”

Percival bends to kiss his boy, pet in his hair while he adjusts to the stretch and fullness. He rocks tiny and slow. He wants this to last. He wants to catalogue Credence in all his glory, face etched in ecstasy, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He pulls out halfway and then makes a slow descent back, Credence tight around him.

“I'm happy, too, Credence.”

“Please, old man. Please.”

Credence moans and heavy breaths are lost in the air, falling away in the room. He feels the place where Percival enters him, stretching hinges him open and he could cry he wants it to last.

Every cocky, confident word leaves Credence as he pumps his cock, chasing this feeling lighting up his insides. 

“Harder, old man, don't hold back.”

Percival growls as he fucks his boy faster, harder, anything he could possibly want, Percival would give in a moment like this where the world is silent, except for their cries of pleasure and skin on skin.

“Oh, I'm gonna come, old man. Fuck, fuck yes, oh...Percy.”

Credence comes between them, stroking his cock fast in pace with Percival. It hits his chest and even his chin. Percival follows with quick breathy sighs, sweating and glorious. He cleans Credence with tissues from the bedside table and tosses the condom. 

They lie together under the heavy quilt, wrapped in each others arms, passing a cigarette between them. 

“When will I see you again?” 

It's always Percival who asks, because it's always Credence's wretched mother that keeps such close tabs on him. 

“Mother is taking us a few towns over tomorrow to preach. We will be gone for a few days.”

“You have to go?”

“Yes. But...we will be back by the week's end.”

“I will be thinking of this moment all the while,” Percival whispers to the top of the boy's head. “Stay just a few more moments.”

“Of course.”

Credence inhales smoke and cologne and spearmint. He, too, will commit this moment to memory as he sits in the car listening to Mother practice her sermon.

For now, he is happy.


End file.
